lost in a daydream @minealon-e - Tumblr Blog

lucky-o-ne-deactivated20191025

How We Perceive Truth

I had my first session with a new therapist today, and I'd been looking forward to it for awhile as I realised that I might need to do some deep, psychodynamic work.

I want to get this down as quickly as I possibly can, because I want to hold on to every word, every feeling, every thought, every little voice that was begging to be heard—It went a little like this:

Me: "There is something I've been struggling with. I know I said in my earlier message that I wish to explore some psychodynamic techniques, and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with my present issue, but I'm not sure how much relevance it has."

She proceeds to ask about my family history and collect some information on my immediate family unit. We call it 'Genogram' in Counselling.

And there it was. Feelings of impatience surfaced. The thoughts of, "how is this relevant?" frequently popped up, but I responded to her questions as matter-of-factly as possible.

"I have never been an angry person, or one to experience anger much. I recently got into a serious and committed relationship after being on my own for many years. I love my partner dearly, and I am sure we will end up together for the rest of our lives."

Pause. She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue.

"But when we fight, I get really angry, and I say the nastiest, harshest, and most hurtful things that damage our relationship. And I hurt him. I lose control of myself in the moment and I can't get out of it till the whole cycle has blown over. By then, I'd be emotionally spent."

I then provided her with more details to what usually happens, even giving her examples of the "angry words" I'd spew. "What goal are you trying to achieve when you say those angry words?" "Well, I want him to reassure me that he still loves me and that he won't leave."

At this moment there was another pause, and I filled it by saying, "I know that during moments like those, all I want to do is to connect, but I choose disconnecting behaviours."

I smiled sheepishly at this statement, which she mirrored, and then replied, "so you're aware."

"How much do you trust your partner?"

"Completely." Was my immediate and resolute answer.

"Well, have you tried just telling him what you want and how you feel?"

"Not at first, but now I try to. But asking for love is lame and shameful, and I hate to think that, as self-reliant, strong, and independent as I am, I hate that I need to ask for love and affection."

"You think it's lame and shameful. Who told you that? Do you need to ask him for love?"

"Well, I know I don't need to."

"Yes, beause he already loves you."

I agreed without a sliver of doubt.

"Think of Primary School Natasha. Could you go up to your dad and ask for love? Would he have given it to you?"

"Well, I don't know, it never happened. But if I did, it would probably be fleeting. I'm not sure. We never had that kind of relationship."

"Yes, we've established that your relationship with your father, even as a child, was anything but normal. But at that point of time, it felt normal because it was all you knew. And that is why it is difficult for you to ask for your needs to be met now, because you had learned to suppress them; they'd be ignored and brushed away."

"Have you ever succeeded in achieving what you wanted when you lashed out at him?"

The answer was obvious. I shook my head.

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

"Because it's familiar."

"Yes, it's all you've known. You were not in control back then, and the only time you had a voice that was heard was when you got upset at him for asking you to leave home. That was the only time your voice was heard. And maybe, when you use angry words on your boyfriend, you are either projecting an image of your father onto him with young Natasha asking to be heard (I did not quite agree with this), or, you never learned how to ask for love and affection and internalised these destructive behaviours to elicit a reaction."

It was clear which it was.

But what she said struck me.

"When you lash out, it is the young Natasha crying out to be heard, to have her needs met, and when your partner withdraws or shuts down, you take this behaviour as a rejection, a barrier, a form of abandonment. Your anger therefore becomes your defence mechanism, to protect yourself."

It seemed like a cycle. The more I try, the more he pulls away. And while, with every fiber of my being, I know he loves me; he won't leave me, there is nothing I should be afraid or worried of, I interpret that as my partner pulling away from me and abandoning me. And as scary as it is to admit, it terrifies me.

I liked this part too:

"You're not going around and having one night stands. You are in a committed and exclusive relationship with your partner. Both of you are each other's primary attachment figure now, and how you express and want to receive love is different. You're anxious now, but through repeated assurances, it can become secure. Try asking, "can you express your love in a way that I can receive it?"

She ended with this:

"It will take a lot of failed attempts to get this right. You've internalised these behaviours that you've learned from a child, but you can also break these patterns and learn new ones. You need to give yourself time."

My love, as you read this, I hope you know that I am struggling with this, I can't do it alone, and I need your help to allow me to learn healthier patterns of communication. I am trying. And I hope you also know that, whenever I'm at my worst and I push you away, hurt you, threaten and criticise you, at that point in time, I don't know any better. I don't know how else to express my needs at that point, but I think I know a little better now. I am trying to change this and break this horrible pattern. I'm sorry, and I love you.

11h10pm-deactivated20230630

"We don't decide our futures. We decide our actions, and our actions decide our futures."

For the longest time, on and off, I'd been toying with the idea of writing again, but every time I try to pick up a pen or a notebook, my thoughts turn into eels and they slip away. Since then, I had just about completely abandoned the idea of writing anymore, because, well... What do I write about?

I'm too lazy. I've no time. Oh, too many things to do. Can't catch a break.

And on the 6th of March, I got into my first accident.

For almost an entire month, I spent most of my time at home, very nearly unable to walk without support, guidance, or a walking aid. For the first time in my life I experienced a small taste of living with a handicap; a physical disability. I say small, because thankfully, my injury wasn't severe to a point where I could barely function independently.

And everything changed.

I've been living with my partner of close to 6 months, and he has been the main pillar of support for me. Without fail, he doted on me, took care of my every need, comforted me, and needless to say—went above and beyond to love and care for me. It surprised me endlessly. Not that I doubted it before, but I was never the recipient of such a tender and intense love; never one so passionate and unconditional. A love so quiet it spoke volumes.

I have always prided myself on my fierce independence, as most people will attest to, and for the first time in my life, having that stripped from me; my capabilities and the like, was something I never imagined happening. It humbled me, deeply. And for awhile, I think I understood what it was like to allow myself to depend on another so strongly, and to resist the urge to fight being taken care of. He has been nothing but a wonderful partner, and I am incredibly lucky to be the recipient of such a genuine love.

Back to writing. I'll get to the point. While I acknowledge my own efforts, I would like to take this opportunity to mention an ex-classmate and a good friend of mine, Sarah, whom I will share this post with. I might have never said it outrightly, but you inspire me. I have always admired how strong, resilient, and capable you are. Your confidence is quiet, non-condescending, genuine... And those are some of the traits I fondly remember you by, as you cross my mind from time to time. You are the reason I decided to start writing again, especially after reading your article about the Paradox of Connection. It got me thinking—was I facing the same dead end, because I had always imagined an audience to write for? Where is this need for external validation coming from?

In the time that I've been at home recovering from my injury, I've had a little (and extremely precious) time to get to know myself a little better. It's been awhile since I truly spent time with myself, and I've picked up a new hobby—cooking (although I'm not very good at it, I do enjoy the process) and being a plant mum. I find immense satisfaction in whipping up a simple homecooked meal for my partner and myself (even though I feel strangely domesticated).

I like it. I like this life. As I look around at my new apartment with the sun streaming in and casting a warm glow on my bay window, I'm filled with an immense sense of peace and gratitude, which, admittedly, I'd forgotten how feel, to certain people around me, one of which is my partner. I'd lost touch with others, the world; the sense of disconnection seemed to be intensifying daily, and for awhile I couldn't seem to make sense of it.

Dr. William Glasser's book, Counselling with Choice Theory, has also been extremely insightful for me during this period of recovery, and I am committed to satisfying my inner needs and falling back in love with life.

And I now realise, it truly starts with the self.

Thank you, Sarah.